Potential
by FrankaPhile
Summary: This is my version of The Angry Princess' start down a road of depression, insecurities, and lots of surgeries. Review!!


D-a-n-a N-e-w-m-a-n.  
  
I carefully spelled out my name on the release form for the surgical procedure I so desperately needed.   
  
How did I get here? Eighteen and already 'getting fixed up'...  
  
...  
  
"Another goddamned zit!" My voice voice echoed harshly through the house. When I first started noticing all of my flaws my mother had become short with me. She would yell and tell me to stop being so hard on myself. Sometimes she would stoop down next to me and pat my back, telling me that I was flawed because I was only human. Those words never stopped me. Being human isn't good enough for the world. The world expects you to be model-pretty, smart as a genius, and have a personality that rivals you good looks.   
  
I always thought that I was lucky. I had a perfect nose, big doe-eyes, and a nice lip shape. That's the kind of stuff that you can never change all the way. I was lucky enough to have flaws in my thighs, butt, chest... The kind of stuff that people go under the knife to fix all the time. It wasn't unusual for me to think about the day I would turn eighteen. That was the day I could sign release forms on my own. My eighteenth birthday would be the day that I could finally stop asking for permission to fix myself.  
  
I would stare at that enlarged pore on my nose. The world always made a mountain out of a mole hill and I was starting to think the way they always did. That enlarged pore on my nose is what the world called a zit. It would probably be the start of a raging case of acne. Acne leaves scars and, well, my thoughts always spiraled downward. It was only realistic to think the way the world wanted me to. I wished for puberty to start my whole life. I wished for bigger breasts and I wanted high school to start so I could finally get my first boyfriend. It never occurred to me before that all of those things came with bigger hips, acne, and stretch marks from growth spurts. My boyish hips had become too wide for me to bear. I could only imagine what high schoolers would think of me.  
  
...  
  
"Honey, those shorts fit you perfectly! I told you that you'd look good in them." My mother smiled, looking up from ironing clothes for just a second. She thought that her daughter was growing up to be such a lovely young woman. I had my mother's well-defined high cheekbones and my father's perfect eyes. My smile was so flawless that her uncle, a dentist, was positive that Dana would never need braces. Those shorts, though...   
  
"They're a size bigger than what I wore last month." I snapped, crossing my arms with a huff of breath. My mother only frowned sadly. This was no unusual occurance in our household. Any compliment that Dana was given was laced with a hidden meaning. Those shorts fit me perfectly because I'd been needing a bigger size in clothing.   
  
"You're a teenager, Dana, and last month you fit into a size two. That's just not healthy for a girl of your build." The iron, standing safely upright, hissed. The noise saved both of us from the uncomfortable silence, but nothing ever stopped the disparaging thoughts from appearing.  
  
A girl of my build... Even my mother thinks that I'm heavy. I'll prove her wrong. I can get better. I will get better. God... What -is- my build?   
  
...   
  
"Why don't you practice your dance in the garage, princess? The cars are in the driveway and you'll need to work if you want to make the corps de ballet." Again, a bright smile crossed my mother's face. She hoped that any sort of activity would cheer me up. I was such an angry and sad girl, but my future was promising. I had so much potential.  
  
...  
  
Making a perfect fouette turn in my leotard and tights, I was the most graceful ballerina in the class. It was obvious to everyone and they all looked on with envy as I held herself up elegantly and stared at my moves in the mirror, but I could barely focus on practice as her thoughts raced.  
  
Is my turnout enough? Are my feet arched enough? Am I as good as -her-?  
  
That last thought always bothered me more than any other. In my mind, there was always someone better than me. I was the lead in the production, but I just -knew- that I was given the solo out of pity. I knew that I would look heavy no matter how high I leaped.   
  
"You have a great attitude." A girl, nervously scratching the back of her neck, stepped up beside me.   
  
"Excuse me?" I was confused. I hadn't looked that confident, had I? Was this actually a compliment about my personality? A tiny smile appeared on my face. It was rare that anyone ever said anything about my spirit. Every comment that had ever been directed towards me was related to my face, my body or even my taste in clothes. This was something that actually made me just a little bit happier.   
  
"Your attitude... You know, your leg looks so great when you lift it. You just have a really great presence when you dance!" The girl gushed and my smile faltered a bit.   
  
Maybe if I worked harder they would see what I really am.   
  
I smiled and quietly thanked the girl, taking a healthy drink of water. I swore that the bottle of water would be my dinner for the evening and tried to lift my spirits by imagining how much easier her leaps would be if I was just a few pounds lighter.  
  
So much room for improvement, but... There was definitely potential.  
  
...  
  
"I'm only taking a year off." My eyes focused on the artificial flower arrangement in the middle of the kitchen table. My father had been lecturing me on getting into college while my mother passively stood by without uttering a single word.  
  
"You know, Dana, I don't care." My father tossed his hands in the air. All of those framed certificates and trophies that the family displayed belonged to -me-. Out of three sisters, I was the competitive overachiever, but now I wasn't going to college.  
  
At first, when I had announced the news, my father had smiled and hoped that she was going to make a career out of her dance experience. I could have been be a soloist in the finest ballet company around. That's what my family said, at least. I had always pushed myself to be the best. It would only be right if I made it into the best company around.   
  
But...  
  
I wasn't going to seek out an alternative career path. Even though he'd been through worse and my siblings had never shown as much promise as -I- had, my father had never been more disappointed.   
  
-Oh, God, maybe if I could just amaze them with a great career they'd love me again... Why didn't I enroll? I'm too stupid, that's why. Barbie-Girl Newman...-  
  
My chair made a loud noise, scraping against the tiles, as I pushed it away from the table. I sprinted up the stairs sobbing wildly and becoming even more absorbed in my grief when I realized that no one was coming to comfort me. Not even my mother who'd always said those nice things out of pity...  
  
That mind that I'd wanted everyone to appreciate more than my beauty had been pushed into the background. I was crushed.  
  
There had to be something other than higher education out there for me. Everyone always said that I had potential to be great.  
  
...  
  
"It looks lovely on you!" The store clerk grinned widely at my reflection in the dressing room's mirrors. What a big lie.   
  
"Of course," She laughed a little bit. "It'll look even better when you wear it without underwear underneath it."   
  
The little joke didn't even bring a smile to my face. My eyes were focused on my lower body. I she saw a dimple, or at least the beginnings of one, on my thigh and it almost brought me to tears. No joke could save me from the ugly beast that was staring at me in the mirror.   
  
"I don't think I'm going to buy anything today." My voice was shaky and I turned sharply to walk back behind the curtain so I could slip out of the revealing swimsuit and into my own clothes. Trying things on was too much for me anymore. I'd grown up, alright. Up and -out- of the tiny sizes I used to be able to fit into. I couldn't let the clerk catch me crying so I hid my face, careful to wipe away the dripping tears that were laced with mascara.  
  
Pulling myself together, I patted my tears dry with my sleeve and walked out of the store.  
  
Reality was cruel. The compliments people gave me made me feel absolutely miserable. Where they saw a beautiful girl, I saw reality. That thing they were calling beautiful was hideous and peppered with flaws. Girls on television were yardsticks to me and I would never let myself measure up to them. The possibilities, though, were endless.   
  
It was time to pencil in an appointment with that well-known cosmetic surgeon. Maybe canthoplasty to fix my unsightly eyelids... Maybe liposuction to fix my famously chunky thighs... Maybe breast implants...   
  
And when he told me that I was beautiful, I believed him... I believed him because he told me that I had potential. There were no lies involved there. It wasn't as if he was calling me a princess like my parents always had. He certainly wasn't saying that I didn't need any help. He was saying exactly what I needed to hear. I had potential to be beautiful.  
  
So I wrote my name down soon after that and started to fix myself up. 


End file.
